


Telephone

by Prodigal_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Gen, M/M, Tickling, strongly implied destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5023450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prodigal_anon/pseuds/Prodigal_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many of the varied allies of the Winchesters have started moving into the bunker.  They all have one thing in common: a love for seeing Dean squirm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telephone

September, 2008

 

Castiel emerges from Hell near a human settlement that means nothing to him, except that it is where the Righteous Man’s earthly dust is buried.  The angel is glad to see the remains were buried rather than burned as is sometimes their custom – it is not outside of his ability to gather the stray particles from the winds where they were scattered, but he is weary now.  He has spent the past week and a half fighting his way out of Hell and appreciates having to expend less energy on the task.

 

The soul he carries, buried deep within his Grace, is exhausted too.  The Righteous Man curls in on himself as best he can with the fragmented chaos of his soul.  The soul’s exhaustion is an improvement over the terror and desperation from the early days of their flight from Hell.  Castiel hopes it will also make the soul a little more compliant when it’s time to bring the fragments together again in the resurrection.

 

First, though, the body.  Castiel crouches over the rotting flesh and begins the delicate process of restoring it.  The soul he carries gives no indication he recognizes his surroundings or the significance of the angel’s actions, but stirs in slight unknowing agitation all the same.  Castiel soothes him absent-mindedly as he knits together the circulatory system and nervous system first.  He notices small quirks of the nervous system that seem to be individual to the Righteous Man’s body.  There are areas of heightened sensitivity, and he considers whether he ought to remove them from the body, as he intends to do to some of the scars and old injuries.   But when he inspects the nerve endings, they do not appear to cause pain when stimulated.  It’s unclear what the purpose is; Castiel has never made as great a study of the intricacies of humanity as some of his brothers and sisters have.

 

Ultimately, he supposes it doesn’t matter.  This body will soon belong to Michael after all; and all of the Righteous Man’s bodily quirks will become meaningless.  So he weaves together the small flaws in the body as they were originally configured.

 

He would have left it at that, except… that small niggling curiosity in him, which he normally suppresses, wonders at it.  What  _is_  the purpose of these small sensitive places?  Particularly the one space that is more sensitive even than the rest combined?  It seems to have no relation to the organs of procreation, and beyond that, Castiel is unaware of any special use for such sensations.  He knows it doesn’t matter.  And yet…

 

Castiel leaves a small sigil in Enochian upon the body.  Small and discreet, unlikely to be noticed by any of his brothers and sisters.  Just a little mark to remind him of the strangeness, that he may ask the Righteous Man about it at a better time; or if nothing else, to look into it himself later.  For now, there are greater matters they must discuss when the resurrection is complete.

 

The angel carries on with his task with no further pauses, marveling at his Father’s ability to create a being of such physical beauty.  Then, carefully, gently, he pulls the now-healed soul out from where it was enveloped within his soothing Grace and eases it once again into the re-formed body.  The time for rest is over.

 

\--------------

 

Present Day

 

Cas sighs disapprovingly at the gash that cuts across Dean’s abdomen – it’s shallow, fortunately, but the damage was not insignificant nonetheless and it covers a great surface area.  Dean is laid back on the sofa in the creature’s former home – Sam and Charlie are attending to the body outside.  Dean’s sprawled in his usual cocky manner, only the slight stiffness of his posture to indicate that he’s in any pain. 

 

“You shouldn’t lecture Charlie and Kevin about being careful on hunts if you aren’t going to follow your own advice,” he scolds, placing his hands over the gash.  Dean’s skin flinches but the man refuses to react otherwise.

  
“Nah, look, if they get ganked, it’s because they’re sloppy and inexperienced.  If me or Sam take a hit, it’s because the monster got lucky.  Happens sometimes.  Trust me, after doing this my whole life, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Complacency has toppled more than one warrior, Dean,” Cas counters.  He allows the healing process to begin.  He’s doing something different now – in earlier days, he would have used a method that a human would perceive as instantaneous, but Hannah has advised him otherwise.  Apparently when Charlie sustained an injury to her back recently, Hannah had used a slower healing method which Charlie had enjoyed greatly, declaring that it was like receiving a warm massage.  Cas feels as though he probably shouldn’t be encouraging Dean to get injured any more than he already does… but, well.  He likes making Dean feel good.

 

The ragged edges of the injury begin to knit together, and Dean watches in fascination.  His body relaxes, dropping its tension as the pain fades, which isn’t quite what Cas was hoping for – but Hannah had mentioned it had taken a minute or two. 

 

Inspecting Dean’s torso this closely makes Cas notice something, and he squints at it. 

 

“…Cas?  You’re looking constipated again.”

 

“No, nothing is wrong with my bowels,” Cas replies absently, still peering down at Dean.  Peering through him, really, at the Enochian sigils etched on his ribs.  The ones that protect his location from angels are still present; but Cas notices one that is not part of that pattern.  It stands out.  “I’m examining the Enochian on your ribs.  There’s a sigil there that I’m trying to decipher.”

 

Dean shifts a little.  The injury is reduced to only a red streak now; soon even that will disappear.  “What do you mean, decipher it?   It says, ‘dicks with wings fuck off.’  You wrote ‘em all, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes, I put them all there.  But one sigil is not part of the ‘fuck off’ message and its image is slightly obscured.  It looks as though I placed it here as part of your resurrection from Hell, but I don’t remember what it was meant to convey and its image is obscured to me.”  He presses his finger gently into the rib where the sigil rests, inert, and Dean laughs a little more shrilly than usual, grabbing Cas’s hand. 

 

“S-so, you’re saying you can’t read your own handwriting?”

 

Cas makes a face at Dean that makes the man laugh again, a little more than the face warrants.  “It’s not that I can’t read my handwriting, Dean, it’s just that your body has been altered on more than one occasion since I re-created you.”  He presses his finger back over the sigil, curious.  “I wish I could remember what it was intended to say.  I’m certain it isn’t of any significance, but – Dean, what are you doing?”

 

Dean is starting to squirm around on the sofa, injury all but forgotten.  “Nothing!  Why are you- you – poking me, cut it out!” 

 

Cas pauses and then grins, forgetting about the sigil.  “Ah.  I see.  This is tickling you.”  He pokes again, a little more deliberately, and grins wider at the choked sound that Dean makes.

 

“No!  You d-didn’t, it’s just, your stupid healing –“

 

“My healing is making you more ticklish?”  Cas’s face lights up at this.

 

“ _No_ , it’s just weird and ah-HAH!  It feels weird cut it out!!”  Dean is making odd noises, a cross between a gasp and a cough, trying hard not to laugh as he swats at Cas’s fingers, which are starting to gang up on his ribs.  The healing method seems to have left him loose-limbed, to judge from his erratic squirming, which is another upside to this method.

 

“But this is fun, Dean.  You’re very endearing when you’re ticklish.”  Cas begins prodding up and down Dean’s ribcage, seeking sensitive points and chuckling when he finds them.  Dean flails and tries to leave the sofa; Cas uses one hand to hold him down with little effort.  “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?  Being tickled?”

 

“Qui-hit  _saying_  that!  No-hoho, I’m not!!”  Dean is laughing openly now, trying to curl in on himself.  He uses one hand to grab for Cas’s hand to no effect, while his other hand is trying to hide his blushing face.

 

“Quit saying the word ‘tickle’?  Why?  Does it make you more ticklish?”  Cas is enjoying himself immensely, tweaking every individual rib and watching Dean contort himself away from Cas’s fingers. 

 

“Shut – eeeheeheeehahaha STOPPITEEheehee!!” 

 

“Why don’t you just admit to being wildly ticklish, Dean?  It’s fairly obvious anyway.”  Cas tears his eyes away from Dean long enough to glance out the window at where Sam and Charlie appear to be finishing up.  “You’d better say it, Dean, or Charlie and your brother are going to come in and see you in this state, and who knows what they’ll do.”

 

Cas knows perfectly well what they’ll do.  Dean knows it too, and manages to waste twenty more seconds cursing Cas (the giggling makes it difficult to take him seriously) and then shrieks:  “Fi-hihihine, you B-BITCH!  I’m – I’m eeehahaha, I’m ti-hi-hicklish now stopstopstopstop!!” 

 

His fingers still and Dean drops back to the couch, still giggling weakly.  Cas leans down and kisses the tip of his nose.

 

“Thank you, Dean, I enjoyed that.  I’ll be sure to put that admission to good use in the future.”

 

“Dick with wings,” Dean mutters, but he’s smiling as he says it.

 

\----

 

Hannah stands within the center of the library and wonders where she should go next.  Adjusting to life among humans was difficult enough, but living in the bunker among these particular humans is proving to be overwhelming at times. 

 

Castiel seems to have long become accustomed to the strangeness and depth of feeling that comes from humanity.  It’s almost unnerving at times how un-angelic he is.  Until Gabriel decides to pop in, and Castiel seems tame in comparison. 

 

Gabriel, the Archangel, long thought deceased, and then revealed to be alive and then thought to be deceased again after the failed apocalypse, has brushed off death and the pressures of Heaven like so much earthly dust, and behaves in a manner she finds bewildering.  At first she felt the need to genuflect in some manner when he arrived, awed by his presence, but after some fairly brutal mockery from – well, everyone except Castiel, she has restrained herself.  Having seen Gabriel in action many times since those early days, she now thinks she understands the amusement. 

 

But although those two angels have not only adjusted to, but embraced humanity… Hannah still finds it confusing and often irritating.  She supposes she shouldn’t complain, though.  They were gracious to welcome her in, given the history of Heaven’s angels as the Winchesters’ primary antagonists, and she has grown fond of Sam, of Kevin the prophet, and most particularly Charlie, who seems to have taken special interest in Hannah’s well-being.  Hannah often prefers Charlie’s company over the others.

 

Regrettably, though, Charlie is not here today.  She is attending a “nerd thing,” whatever that entails, with Kevin and Sam, and Hannah declined to attend.  Gabriel had been here, for a while, but then announced that Kevin was probably overdue to be harassed, and vanished again. 

 

Hannah glances at the books in the library.  She could probably pass the time by reading them all, but she thinks she might brave seeking out Castiel and the elder Winchester instead. 

 

It’s not that she’s afraid of him, precisely – or perhaps she is.  The Winchesters are more dangerous than their feeble human frames would indicate, and Dean in particular can be violent.  He’s been nothing but civil since she’s moved in, though, and he’s included her in their human rituals of eating and watching the television, so perhaps it’s time she met him halfway.

 

Hannah follows the sound of their voices through the bunker.  She hears a loud squawking noise in one of the side rooms, where the television is kept, and steps through the half-opened door in time to see Castiel attacking Dean. 

 

The human is hunched over and making wild shrieking noises, hugging himself and trying to get away from Castiel, who is laughing at him as he – appears to be digging his fingers into the human’s ribcage.  Hannah is at first almost too confused to act, for it makes no sense: why Castiel, who turned his back on the Host and his Angelic nature for this man, should be attacking him now.  But she swiftly remembers what she knows of the angel Naomi, and the possibility of something similar happening seems possible and she draws her blade.

 

“Stand down, Castiel,” she says loudly, stepping as close to them as she dares with their bodies entangled as they are. 

 

Castiel glances at her, still laughing, though he stops immediately when he sees her blade out and pointed at him.  His hands still where they are, allowing Dean to squirm away, panting.  The human’s eyes widen almost comically when he sees her.

 

“Uh, Hannah.  There’s been a mistake,” Castiel says, holding his hands up slowly.

 

“Dean Winchester, are you well?”  Hannah asks, not taking her eyes off of Castiel. 

 

Dean seems to need a moment to recover, which she allows patiently.  “Uh… what?”

 

“Dean.  Hannah is asking if you’re okay.”  Castiel’s mouth is twitching, though he still doesn’t lower his hands. 

 

Dean is standing upright now, still a little breathless but otherwise unharmed.  “Y-yeah.  I’m fine.  Why are you pointing your blade at Cas?”  His voice rises a little, as though alarmed, and he sounds as bewildered as she is starting to be. 

 

She keeps the blade out though, and narrows her eyes slightly.  “Castiel, please explain why you were attacking your friend.”

 

Castiel still looks as though he is finding this very amusing.  “I wasn’t attacking Dean, Hannah, I assure you.  Well – I wasn’t attacking him with intent to harm.” 

 

Dean looks from Hannah to Castiel and back, face going from mottled to deep red.  “Aw, shit.  Is that what this is about??  Screw you, I’m not explaining!”  He makes a halting movement, as though he wishes to storm out but doesn’t want to leave until he’s sure this is resolved.

 

“I’ll be happy to explain.  Hannah, there is no threat here.  I was performing an action that humans use to bond with one another.  Friends, family, lovers.  It’s a playful gesture meant to evoke trust and happiness.”

 

Hannah finally lowers her blade, slowly.  “Bonding?  It looked as though you were attacking him.”  She speaks slowly, trying to grasp this.  It’s obvious now, from Dean’s lack of distress, that she was mistaken, and yet – how could she suppose anything else?  He’d been screaming, trying to get away, with Castiel’s fingers digging into his fragile human flesh. 

 

Dean groans from where he’s standing.  “Okay, look, if I just say – he’s right, okay?  Nothing to worry about here, Hannah.  Everything’s fine.  Now can we all move along and never bring this up again?”

 

“It’s called ‘tickling,’ and it’s considered to be fun when the elements of trust are in place, but Dean is being cagy now because it’s embarrassing to be the one being tickled.  And enjoying it.”  Castiel seems happy to fill her in on the details.

 

Hannah can’t claim to fully understand what either of them are talking about yet, but she’s picked up the highlights – Dean’s okay, Castiel was playing with him, Dean enjoys it but finds it embarrassing.  Well, Hannah finds it agreeable to see Dean in a flustered and silly state, as long as he’s unharmed, and she’s been discovering that it’s best to figure things out as she goes when it comes to humanity. 

 

So she dismisses her blade and steps a little over to Castiel, to give a visual impression that they are on a team together against Dean.  “You say it’s a playful way to establish trust among friends?  Do you trust me, Dean?”

 

Dean’s face reddens further and he sputters, drawing in on himself and glancing wildly around the room for something that may take the subject elsewhere.  “Wh- no!  I mean – well yeah I guess – but it’s not like – he left out a bunch of important points –”

 

“He’s just stalling,” Castiel tells her.  “See how he’s blushing?  It’s already working!  Give it a try.”  His shoulders are shaking slightly and she feels confident that she’s acting on this correctly.  She turns to Dean with a smirk.  If asked, she would have to admit to feeling eager to put the legendary Winchester down a peg or two.

 

“You were pressing your fingers into his ribs, yes?  This is how it’s done?”  She steps forward with her hands raised in preparation, and is amused to see Dean back himself further into his corner, giggling already in between curses and protests. 

 

“There are many ways.  Here –” Castiel freezes Dean in place, steps over and ignores the increased curses to gently tug his arms down, exposing the man’s neck.  “Try this instead.  I promise you’ll get results.  Just very lightly use your fingernails to wiggle along his neck.  Like this, see?”

 

Castiel demonstrates, fluttering his own blunt fingertips along Dean’s neck, which is locked in place.  His face and mouth aren’t, though, and the squeal that issues from his throat is satisfying.

 

“EeeeeEEEEheehee Ca-hahahas nohoho, no-hahat there, d-dohohoho!!”

 

“Hannah has to learn about humanity, Dean, don’t you agree?  Come on over and try for yourself,” he steps back and gestures for Hannah to take over.

 

She’s smiling as she imitates Castiel’s motions.  “This is very charming, Dean Winchester,” she tells him, but she isn’t sure if he even hears her over the constant bubbling laughter that drowns out her words.  She isn’t just teasing him when she says it though.  Watching him giggle helplessly is funny, but the fact that he isn’t upset that she has her hands on his neck, while he’s vulnerable like this, actually moves her.  He does  _trust_  her.  That… means a lot.

 

She’ll reflect on it more when she’s done making him squeal like a child.

 

\-----

 

Charlie wanders through the bunker towards the motor pool.  She’d begged and pleaded (and snuck behind Dean’s back to ask Sam, who’s got just as much claim on the bunker as anyone else!), and finally scored a set of keys to the ~nice~ pale mint green 1962 Ford Thunderbird kept there.  A pure, hedonistic delight to drive.  Not very practical, though, and expensive to keep filled up, so she mostly only uses it on short jaunts to go shopping, or local hunts.

 

She thinks she left her earbuds in the passenger seat the last time she drove it, so she’s going now to retrieve them.  She can tell from the sounds of Queen drifting from the area that Dean’s there now, and she would bet cash money that he’s on that little wheelie trolley thing under the Impala, happily tooling away at the car’s guts.  Unless he’s got the hood open and is indulging his hobby there.

 

She’s right, as she knew she would be – as she strolls through the door into the garage, she sees a pair of shapely male legs peeking from under the Impala, the rest of the man hidden from view beneath the car.  There’s a surprise waiting for her as well, though, in the form of a pair of shapely female legs, swinging slightly in the air as their owner sits perched on the hood of another car.

 

“Hey Dean!” she says out of standard politeness; there’s no reply as he can’t hear crap from under the car with Freddie Mercury wailing away.  More enthusiastically: “Hey, Hannah!  What are you up to down here?”  Charlie greets the angel with a smile.  She knows that Sam and Dean took a while to warm up to her, but Hannah and Charlie hit it off right away.  Charlie finds her oddness endearing, and her lovely features are a plus. They look cute together, if Charlie does say so herself. 

 

Hannah smiles at her, a little hesitantly, as though she has to remember to do it.  “Hello, Charlie.  I am not… ‘up to’ anything.  Only watching Dean.”  She pauses.  “He has attractive legs.”

 

Charlie fights a smile; Sam and Dean have said, repeatedly, that Cas used to be as literal-minded and blunt, and she guesses that even Gabriel must have been once upon a time.  It’s entertaining.

 

“Yeah, well, he’s pretty, all right, can’t deny that.  No wonder Cas likes him so much.”  She leans against the car next to Hannah and watches with her as Dean obliviously carries on, singing along terribly.  “I’m glad you two are getting on better.  Our little bunker family is getting so close!”  Charlie puts her arm around Hannah in a half-hug, digging a Tootsie Roll out of her purse and offering it to her.  Hannah takes it happily, and Charlie throws a small handful into her own mouth.

 

“Well, I don’t know if the two of us are close yet.  I would like to be better friends.  I came down here to speak and see if he wanted to be tickled, but I haven’t dared to interrupt while he is with his Baby.”

 

Charlie chokes.  Her own candy locks up in her throat in her surprise, leaving her wheezing briefly before Hannah dismisses the choking hazard with a gesture.  “Uh – Hannah, sorry, but did you say – uh, you were going to ask him if he wanted…?”

 

Hannah smiles at her, a faint hint of mischief in that smile that Charlie decides she likes.  “To see if he wanted to be tickled.  I recently had it explained to me that tickling is a gesture of friendship and trust among humans, and Dean kindly allowed me to demonstrate my feelings of friendship to him.”

 

Charlie raises both eyebrows for this.  “He allowed it?”  Dean Winchester would never have struck her as the sort.  Though the fact that he’s apparently ticklish doesn’t surprise her; he has “outward tough guy, inward softie” written all over him. 

 

Hannah’s smile becomes a smirk, and Charlie thinks that she likes that even more.  “Well.  Castiel aided him in allowing it.  Otherwise he would have squirmed and wriggled too much.  But he didn’t really protest.”  She kicks her feet idly.  “I enjoyed tickling him.  He obviously enjoyed it too.  It’s a nice way of showing friendship.”  Hannah turns to face Charlie, a little smile still playing at her lips:  “I would like to show you my friendship sometime, if you would allow it.” 

 

Charlie finds herself matching the smile, trying not to look _too_ happy at the prospect.  “I… am completely down with that.  And I’ll even return the gesture if you want.”  She sneaks a little poke to Hannah’s belly, getting a flinch and a surprised look.  “But look.  There’s a golden opportunity here to show Dean how much we like him.  You with me?”

 

Hannah’s smile widens until it’s almost a full grin.  “I am with you.  But he’s sheltered beneath his Baby.  Should we pull him out?”

 

Shaking her head, Charlie puts her purse down and takes Hannah by the elbow, speaking her instructions conspiratorially into her ear even though it’s unnecessary; poor Dean can’t hear their plotting.  “Go sit on his legs.  I’m gonna show you something  _amazing_.”

 

Hannah nods and vanishes before Charlie’s eyes, which is startling – Charlie still isn’t quite accustomed to the way the angels can do that.  Hannah reappears perched atop Dean’s legs, and Charlie grins as she hears a yelp over the sound of ‘Bicycle Race’.  She saunters over to the player and shuts it off, and the confused shouting comes into clearer focus.

 

“Oh, hush, Dean!  Don’t be such a baby,” she calls out as she walks over to where the legs are attempting to kick Hannah off – but Hannah’s like a rock, immovable, cheating with her angelic strength.  As well she should.  The sight of her sitting down there on the floor of a garage in her nice pantsuit makes Charlie grin.

 

“Charlie?  What the hell!”  Dean’s sounding less alarmed and more grumpy already.  “Is that your lead butt cutting off the circulation to my legs?”

 

“Humph!  No!  It’s Hannah and you really need to work on that whole charm factor.  I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Charisma, but you’re starting to sound more like Mr. Grouchy Jerk to me,” Charlie winks at Hannah as she takes a knee in front of Dean’s feet, facing the angel.

 

“Yeah, why would I be annoyed, when I’ve got a million-ton angel sitting on me during designated Baby Time, and someone turned off Freddie.”  The sarcasm is dripping from his voice, and Charlie shakes her head at how easy he makes it.

 

“Oh, Hannah.  Look at this situation.  Here you are, just coming down to let Dean know how much you value being his friend –” she’s probably imagining the flinch, because his legs are totally locked in place, but she definitely didn’t imagine the muttered curse. “- and instead, you just get a grump insulting your butt.”

 

Hannah nods gravely, clearly trying to get into it.  “It’s very customarily rude of him.”

 

Charlie snickers as a ‘hey!’ comes from under the car.  “Right.  Totally rude.  But we still like him anyway, don’t we?  So… the way I see it…”  Here she begins to untie Dean’s boots, and his feet start kicking uselessly.

 

“Aw, shit, Charlie, no way!!  Hands off!!”  Dean cries from under the car.

 

Charlie gleefully ignores him.  “…I figure, we have to cure his grumpiness, punish his rudeness, _and_ show him we still like him, all at once.  Luckily I know just how we can do that.”

 

Hannah nods again.  “By tickling him at length, correct?”

 

Charlie can’t decide if Hannah’s really, really bad at teasing – or really, really good at it, to judge from the noise under the car: a strangled protest and a thump, as though Dean’s struggling to wriggle away.  She’s got his boots off now and the toes are wiggling frantically under the socks.

 

“…Right, exactly.  And you say you happen to already know that Dean here is pretty ticklish?” 

 

Hannah’s definitely got a smug look on her face.  “ _Extraordinarily_  ticklish.”

 

Charlie slowly pulls off Dean’s socks, revealing the bare feet, and the toe-wiggling gets more frantic, as do the thumping sounds under the car. 

 

“Hannah, come onnnn, get off me, I wasn’t making fun of  _you_ , I thought it was  _Charlie_!”  Dean’s voice is already getting a little breathless and giggly, which is a nice sound for him.

 

“Your rudeness towards her is also unacceptable.”

 

“Just give it up, Dean, you’re going _down_!”

 

She gives him no further time to beg and plead, appealing though it may be, but she starts dragging her fingernails slowly up and down his soles.  The reaction is instant and glorious: Dean starts cackling under the car, voice pitched ridiculously high, and his feet wiggle twice as hard.

 

“Nahahaha!! Nahano, nononoahahaEEEhahaha!”

 

“Dean, wow!!  This is the greatest thing ever!!”  Charlie tries the sides and tops of his feet as well, with equal success, then looks up at Hannah.  The angel is watching, rapt, an expression of amusement battling concern on her face.

 

“You wanna join in?  Pretty sure Dean would thank you if you did.  After all, we’re showing him how much we love him, right?”

 

Hannah reaches out to drag a fingernail up the length of his soul, smiling slightly at the high-pitched squeaky giggle under the car, but hesitates before looking up at Charlie.

 

“He did not react so strongly before.  Is he – all right?”

 

“Surrrrrre he is.  He’s just more ticklish on his little feetsies, that’s all.  We’ll probably have to give him a break in a minute because he’s sooooooo stupidly ticklish that he’ll probably pass out if we don’t stop tickling him.  Isn’t that right, Tickly Bear?”  She punctuates her rhetorical question by fluttering her own fingers over the arches of his feet, making them scrunch up adorably.

 

“Shu-hut _up_!”  Comes a yell from under the car.

 

Charlie rolls her eyes and nods knowingly at Hannah, gesturing for her to lean in so Charlie can whisper.  “You notice he still hasn’t told us to stop?”

 

Hannah nods, eyes wide.

 

Charlie nods again, smirking, and speaks aloud again.  “I’ll hold his toes.  You go wild on these tickly little feet of his.” 

 

“Shit, Charlie, Hannahhhhhhh!” Dean whines, wriggling his feet again.

 

“Here it comes!”

 

Hannah is scary good at this already.  Her fingers flick over Dean’s trapped feet as expertly as though she’s been tickling people for all of her thousand-year lifespan.  It gives Charlie goosebumps as she laughs alongside Dean – though a little less hysterically.  Dean’s making all kinds of fun, crazy noises.  Giggles, squeals, silent wheezy laughter when Charlie plays with his toes (she stops after a few seconds, not wanting to break him), and a delightful quick series of snorts when Hannah’s terrible fingernails scratch over his heels. 

 

After Dean’s starting to sound a little hoarse and tired, Charlie puts a hand over Hannah’s fingers, stilling them.  “You giving up already?  It’s been like five minutes!”

 

“It… was wa-hay more than… than tha-hat,” Dean manages, still chuckling weakly.

 

“Ugh.  Next time we’ll have to time it,” she tells Hannah, and pushes back away from Dean’s feet.  “Okay, fine, Tickly.  You’re too ticklish to last any longer, we got it.”

 

“Oh God, do _not_ start calling me that,” Dean groans.

 

Hannah eases off his legs and they pull him out from under the car to reveal a red grinning face.  He swats at them both, weakly, on general principal, and Charlie scruffs his hair before helping him to sit up. 

 

Dean tries to scowl around his grin.  “You two just wait.  I’m gonna show you my friendship soon, when you least expect it, and then you’ll be sorry!”

 

Charlie laughs and slugs him in the chest – a nice bro-like gesture after everything they put him through.  “Do your worst, Tickly, I got backup now!” 

 

\---

 

Gabriel’s got his spoon  _in his hand_ , held  _just so_  over the massive confection on his plate, so there’s really no question that this particular slice of [three-layer homemade Neapolitan ice cream cake with a Swiss Cake swirl shell](http://www.wildyeastblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/1Swiss-swirl-ice-cream-cake.jpg?441324) is his, intended to be eaten by Gabriel and no other.  The only reason he isn’t eating it right at that very second is because he’s talking to Charlie about how all the Hollywood portrayals of Gabriel are of a hedonistic asshole.  Totally unrealistic! 

 

So then in comes Tweedle Dum, the older of the Winchester clowns, and with an audacity that truly shocks, _he takes Gabriel’s ice cream right out of his hand_.  And plucks the spoon right out from where it’s upraised as Gabriel is making a powerful fucking point about The Prophecy with Christopher Walken. 

 

Charlie looks like she’s choking on her own ice cream.  Partly surprise, but mostly as though she’s witnessing the punchline to a joke, which is how she’s been treating the entire Hollywood Gabriel dissertation.

 

Gabriel turns gravely to Dean, who only nods politely, the little shit, and does a little gesture with _Gabriel’s fucking spoon_ that he should go on talking.  Then takes a bite.

 

“Kiddo, if you think I’m going to overlook this little transgression – ”

 

Dean scoffs and actually rolls his eyes.  Where’s the respect.  “Please.  Like you can’t snap a thousand more into existence.”  He takes another, huge bite, and Gabriel narrows his eyes dangerously.

 

It’s not like he doesn’t know exactly what this is.  It’s the invitation to retaliate, an invitation he receives every so often from one of the Winchesters or Winchesters-by-proxy, to participate in a harmless little gentleman’s battle of wills.  It’s a war that he could win effortlessly by, as Dean says, snapping the results he wants.  Snap, pink hair for everyone.  Snap, all the furniture’s on the ceiling.  Snap, everyone’s a different breed of dog for the day.  But doing that would be failing to win on their terms, which means losing, which Gabriel doesn’t do.  Not when it comes to prank wars.

 

Dean’s making a face of pure (but exaggerated) bliss as he takes another bite of Gabriel’s ice cream, then he makes a politely innocent face, raising his eyebrows.  “So, Charlie, Gabriel, sorry I interrupted – you were talking about something?”  He’s talking with his mouth full.  Both rude and mocking.

 

“We were talking about how every time someone makes a movie or TV show with Gabriel in it as a character, he’s always this mischievous, vindictive asshole,” Charlie answers.

 

Dean snorts.  Finally swallowing his mouthful of ice cream, he grins broadly.  “I know!  It’s like they all met him!”  Chortling merrily, he goes to put another spoonful in his mouth, and Gabriel cheats.  Yeah, whatever, he’s the Trickster, so Dean takes a mouthful of raw kale instead and makes a very satisfyingly comical face.

 

“Vindictive?  Please.  Little old me?  If I was vindictive, would I be just trying to look out for your health?  Your brother’s right, you shouldn’t be eating all that junk food!  You’re not a kid anymore after all,” Gabriel says sweetly, gently disengaging his plate from Dean’s hands as Charlie laughs. 

 

“Hey!  Dudes would kill for a body like this!” Dean complains, surreptitiously tugging at his shirt – a habit he’s gotten into to hide his slightly chubby belly.  Gabriel doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

 

“Awww, c’mon, Dean,” Charlie cajoles, reaching out to rub his tummy as though for good luck.  “We all love your – uh?” 

 

Dean’s doing a totally unmanly squirm away from Charlie’s hand while making a high pitched “hee hee!” noise.  The three of them go very still.

 

“Now what is this delightful new thing, hmm, Jelly Dean?” Gabriel inquires, a slow grin spreading over his face.

 

“N-nothing!  I just – I wish you wouldn’t make fun of it.  It makes me sad.”  Dean attempts to do the Sam Winchester puppy eyes which makes Gabriel snicker. 

 

“Gabriel.”  Charlie’s tapping her finger on her chin and smiling evilly.  “Did you know that me and Hannah nabbed Jelly Dean in the garage earlier and discovered that his feet are, like, _stupidly_ ticklish?”

 

“You don’t say!”  Gabriel shifts from where he was seated on the kitchen table and that’s enough to make Dean laugh nervously and bolt for the door.

 

Gabriel appears in front of him, solid enough that Dean bounces off him with an ooph of surprise and actually loses his balance.  Gabriel grabs him and has him in an armlock before he has a chance to fall.

 

“So you think that maybe his cute lil pudgy tummy might possibly be ticklish too?”  Gabriel asks, drifting his fingers across the belly in question, which tightens under the touch and makes Dean do another of those little squirms.

 

“I would bet my hat on it,” Charlie says, grinning as she saunters over. 

 

“You’re not wearing a h-hah!”  Dean immediately clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to undo that moment, but the damage is done.  Gabriel leaves his fingers still where they lay across the quivering tummy, still easily holding Dean’s arms behind his back with one hand.  Cheating again, using the angelic strength.  Whatever.  Trickster. 

 

“My dear Ms. Bradbury.  Would you be a love and hook his shirt up over his head?  I do believe it’s getting quite in our way,” Gabriel says in a drawling voice of quasi-British accent.

 

“Indeed I shall, Lord Gabriel, thank you most kindly for the suggestion,” she replies in the same tone, grinning up at Dean as she draws his shirt up slowly. 

 

“Oh my God, come on, this is so stupid, didn’t you already do enough earlier?!”  Dean’s whining is muffled slightly by the T-shirt, and he’s yanking futilely on his arms, but without much energy, as though he already knows he’s screwed.

 

“I didn’t get a chance to do crap yet, Winchester, and you have this coming to you, Señor Helado Bandito,” Gabriel tells him, tweaking his love handles a couple of times.

 

“I-hihi doh, don’t know what that meheheans!” Dean’s squeaking again and Gabriel decides that as long as he’s cheating, he may as well go whole hog and uses his grace to secure Dean where he is so that Gabriel’s free to use both hands.

 

“Stick with Jelly Dean, that’s easier,” Charlie advises, wiggling the fingernails of her index fingers gently along the bend in Dean’s waist.

 

“AhaHAHAHA NONONO STAHAHAHAPPIT!!!”  Dean cries, struggling against the Grace.

 

 

Charlie and Gabriel gasp and pretend to clutch at each other as though overcome with the cuteness.  “Oh no, Gabe, look at that!  It’s _adorable_!”  Charlie coos.

 

“Did you see the way it jiggled a little bit?  I almost cried!”  Gabriel adds.

 

“Shut up, you two are assholes!”  Dean is contorting himself weirdly to try to free himself from the grace’s grip. 

 

“Oh dear.  Charlie, maybe we better show him we mean business, hmm?”  Gabriel sets his fingertips on the soft flesh of Dean’s tummy.

 

Charlie does the same.  “You ready?”

  
“Set!”  Gabriel grins, Dean wails.

 

“GO!” they shout in unison, and scribble their fingers across every inch of Dean’s stomach and waist.  Dean’s screeching and alternately flailing out with his legs and losing control of them altogether, sagging with only the grace to hold him up.  Gabriel is enjoying the feel of pinching the skin lightly, a little lobster-claw technique, while Charlie prefers to put her fingernails to good use, scratching gently.  The conflicting sensations must be driving Dean crazy.  His laughter is high and wild and a pure delight to hear.  And his tummy is jiggling a little, maybe the most endearing thing about him after that hysterical cackle he makes when Gabriel pokes his index finger into his belly button and rotates it gently. 

 

After a minute or two of this, Dean’s laughter has gone silent, so they reluctantly give him a break, though neither of them can quite keep their hands off him entirely.  They poke him intermittently, just enough to keep him on edge. 

 

“Okay-hay, so *hic* we-hee, we’re even nahahahow, right?  The i-s-s-s-s-ice cream?”  Dean manages. 

 

Gabriel makes a thoughtful hmm-ing noise.  “…Yes, I suppose you’ve paid for that error in judgment,” he decides, and waits just long enough for Dean to sigh in relief before he lets the other shoe drop.

 

“But I haven’t heard you apologize yet for agreeing that all the Hollywood Gabriels are true-to-life!” and starts up again, Charlie standing back now to take a couple of pictures with her phone while laughing, and Dean’s laughter rings through the kitchen again, interspersed with colorful unrepentant curses. 

 

All in all, Gabriel’s satisfied.  Another gentleman’s battle of wills: victory goes to Gabriel.

 

 

\------

 

Sam helps himself to an apple from the bowl that Charlie keeps filled in the kitchen, immediately next to the covered dish with garish cartoon kitty cats on it that Gabriel keeps perpetually filled with the fun-size packs of M&M’s – Kevin’s favorite.  There are similarly ugly dishes scattered throughout the bunker that perpetually refill themselves with the various favorite candies of all of them, but the fruit bowl basically only belongs to Sam and Charlie.  From time to time he lectures the rest of them on how their teeth won’t last forever (except that in the case of the three angels, they will) and fruit is just as delicious as candy but with fewer junk calories and added sugar.  But for the most part, he argues out of habit.  He’s been happier lately, with the whole gang mostly living here under the one roof, happy to see Dean happy, happy to have a web of relationships rather than just the straight line connecting Dean and Sam and no others, that Sam can’t find it in him to care much if they’re all eating crap.

 

But no matter how many Mars Bars Gabriel tries to tempt him with, Sam resolutely sticks to the produce section.  He takes a satisfyingly crunchy bite out of the apple and picks up his book, planning to wander out to the living room to read, but stops short in the doorway.

 

His brother is already there, alone, trussed up against one of the columns along the wall that has convenient decorative protrusions to affix a rope to.  His arms are bound and held straight up, over his head, and his legs have additionally been secured to the column.  To judge from the annoyance on Dean’s face rather than concern (and the fact that he’s already made some progress in getting himself out of the ropes), Sam concludes it was probably a harmless pranking. 

 

Taking two steps further into the room confirms his guess, and makes Dean freeze in alarm.  Because there are two other unusual details here, namely, that Dean is shirtless and that there appears to be writing on his exposed belly.  The script is small, a little shaky, full of curlicues and flourishes, and seems to be painted on.

 

“Dearest reader, whomever you may be,” Sam reads as he gets closer.  Dean’s face is turning red and he fidgets nervously.  “This missive shall serve to let all know that Dean Winchester is exceptionally ticklish here on his precious pudgy tummy.  It has been thoroughly researched and confirmed by one Charlie Bradbury (aka the Illustrious Queen of Moondoor) and the Archangel Gabriel (aka Loki, aka the Trickster).  Please note that a well-placed finger to poke into his tummy button will produce a merry sound like that of the smallest of sweet and adorable little girls.  Your sincere friends for all time, Gabriel and Queen Charlie.”

 

“They got into some stupid mood or something, I dunno.  They’re weird.  C’mon, Sam, untie me, this is so stupid and childish.”  Dean’s voice cracks slightly at first and he’s trying so hard to play it cool that it makes Sam want to scruff his hair and pinch his cheek.  As it is, he smiles and places his book and apple off to the side. 

 

“Yeah, it IS stupid and childish,” he agrees, putting his hands on his knees and leaning over to inspect their handiwork more closely, noting but not calling attention to the fact that Dean’s starting to fidget again.  Really, the amount of curlicues on this writing is intricate and excessive, they must’ve had him stuck to this column for a while to put that on.  The thought makes him smile.

 

“…Especially since they went to all that trouble and didn’t even get your worst spot, did they?”  Sam winks conspiratorially at Dean, who actually blushes, to Sam’s delight.  He reaches out to trace his finger over the elaborately-drawn word “Trickster,” then drifts his finger up along Dean’s side, pausing just below the taut hollow under his arms. 

 

“Sam, c’mon, don’t be a d-dick!”  Dean gasps and jerks as much as the ropes allow, which isn’t much.

 

Sam ignores him.  “I remember this spot being way, way worse for you.  You think it still is?” he asks in a curious voice, poking a single finger into the hollow and grinning when Dean makes a strangled noise and firmly clamps his mouth shut in a frown that trembles at the corners.

 

“Hmm, it really looks like you are still… ticklish, here,” Sam continues, starting to smirk as he flicks his single finger a couple of times across the skin, mentally thanking himself for teaching Charlie how to properly tie knots. 

 

Dean briefly opens his mouth up as though to snarl something at him, but a high-pitched giggle comes out instead, and more giggles come pouring out after as Sam adds a couple more fingers.

 

“Aww, isn’t that cute?  Just like when we were kids,” Sam coos maddeningly, feeling wickedly pleased.  Things have improved lately for the Winchesters, but it’s still too rare a treat to see Dean just laughing like this.  But Sam would be lying if there wasn’t an element of brotherly sadism at work here as well. 

 

He walks the fingers of his other hand up to Dean’s other armpit and starts wiggling them as well, causing Dean’s voice to jump in octave and volume, squirming fruitlessly against the ropes and occasionally bursting out with a frantic curse between giggling fits.  He was never going to get out of those ropes like that, Sam noted with satisfaction.

 

“I’ll have to write a return note to Charlie and Gabe thanking them,” he says cheerfully, and digs in.

 

\-----

 

Benny stares out the window and thanks the blessed shitty music coming from the radio for filling in the silence. 

 

The music, which Benny hasn’t heard before, was chosen by Sam Winchester, who’s currently driving the Impala.  Benny hasn’t spent much time around both brothers at once but he already knows this setup is unnatural.

 

Dean is sulking in the backseat, his cuffed hands resting in his lap.  The hunt had gone badly.  They’d guessed the wrong monster, and their mistake had almost cost them.  Benny had been incapacitated by Dead Man’s Blood; Dean by ensorcelled handcuffs that had him locked to a chair while unconscious.  The most Benny could do was drag himself in front of Dean in feeble protection against the Jikininku witch.  If Sam hadn’t burst in at the last moment, Benny is certain that they would have been killed.  He’s… a little distressed by the fact that he was part of the reason the hunt had gone wrong, and more distressed by the fact that it didn’t occur to him to pray to the angel Castiel for help.  Benny feels like he’s on shaky ground with all of them except Dean.  He’s the only monster of “Team Free Will,” as they more or less call themselves, and even Cas and Sam are awkward around him.  So he didn’t pray and Dean almost died as a result.

 

It was Dean’s decision to have Sam drive them back to the hotel room. None of them could figure out how to remove the handcuffs, and Dean doesn’t want to ask Cas to come out to them and risk seeing “his bitchface, which is almost as bad as yours, Sammy,” and Sam drives them back to the hotel in the hopes that they can figure out how to remove the cuffs themselves.

 

Benny sits quietly, feeling the poison of the Dead Man’s Blood slowly leaving his system, when Sam abruptly turns the music down.

 

“Okay, look, you’re about as transparent as Dean at the moment.  It wasn’t your fault.  We guessed wrong, it happens.  That was a pretty unlikely baddie anyway.  So… stop worrying about it.  We got through fine.”

 

“Is that what your panties are twisted about?”  Dean demands from the backseat.  “Holy shit, Benny, they can’t all go as smoothly as the time with the gorilla-wolves.  We’re fine.”

 

“I shoulda been able to do more,” Benny says softly, not bothering to deny the charges.  He’d wanted to prove himself to Sam, to Cas, that it wasn’t a mistake to let him join the group.  “I was the first one they took out.  If Sam hadn’t come in –”

 

“Dude.  I can’t even count on eight hands how many times monsters have gotten the drop on me and Sammy.  That’s why we don’t do this shit solo.”

 

“You’re forgetting that you’re not on your own anymore,” Sam says.  “You have backup now.  If you’re knocked out, the fight still isn’t over.”

 

This is… unexpected.  Sam has been civil but hardly warm to Benny so far since Benny’s return to their lives.  “I still oughta be able to pull my own weight better.  Since I been kicking a hornet’s nest in that bunker ever since I showed up.”

 

Dean groans loudly from the back seat, but Sam interjects before his brother can complain.

 

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but… that’s in the past.  We’re all fine now.”

 

“But Cas-” 

 

  
“Cas is awkward.  You know that already.  He likes you, we all like you, you don’t have to worry you blew it if you mess up on a hunt.  Actually, you’d hardly be a Winchester without being on a fucked-up hunt,” Sam says, offering a small, shy smile that seems so completely unlike the serious, pissed-off Sam that Benny is familiar with, that it takes him a moment to even absorb the words.  _A Winchester._

 

“Not to mention that everyone on the team except Hannah and Charlie have been monsters at one point.  Hell, even I did my time as a vamp.  So it’s not like you’re some special snowflake.”  Dean sounds irritable and grumpy, which Benny attributes at least in part to the fact that they’re listening to non-Dean-approved music while Sam drives the Impala.

 

Sam gives Benny a significant look.  “Here, as a gesture of good faith, let me let you in on a Winchester secret: Dean’s got really ticklish knees.”

 

Benny blinks at him, perking up a little for the first time under the lethargy of the Dead Man’s Blood.  “He what?”

 

“ _Sam_!”

 

“Really bad,” Sam confides.  “Like, we went up against a rusalka once and she latched onto his knees and that was nearly the end of Dean Winchester.  Talk about your fucked-up hunts!”

 

“Benny, no, he’s just making it up to be a bitch!”  Dean’s eyeing him nervously, holding up his bound hands in premature defense.  Like that’s gonna help him.  “Anyway, Sam, you don’t think this is kinda the wrong time?  I mean, we’re all tired from the hunt, and Benny’s bummed out, and stuff.”

 

“Nah, I think he’s onto something,” Benny says, unbuckling his seat belt in defiance of safety laws, so he can turn around better.  “I think some levity would cheer me up.”

 

Dean’s frantically trying to undo his own seatbelt so he can maneuver away but Benny’s too quick, and latches one hand just above each kneecap and squeezes.

 

Laughter explodes out of Dean, and he tries bouncing and kicking his legs to no avail.  Benny alternates pressure; rapid and light, slow and deep, both at once, one after the other. 

 

“Ahahahaheeheestahp, S-sahaham you dick, yohohou’re both dicks, nononNOSTOPSTOPAHAHA!”

 

Benny’s smiling again for the first time in hours.

 

“Now that’s sweet, Dean, I wish you’d told me this earlier!  Look at you.  All giggly and blushing like a gal mooning over her beau.”

 

“Shuhuhuh!”  Dean manages that much, before Benny switches his hands under to lightly scritch behind the knees.  Dean’s volume increases and he begins whapping Benny with his bound hands.  Benny ignores it.

 

“We got… what, another twenty minutes back to the hotel?  You think he’d last that long, Sam?”

 

“I can tell you from experience he’s going to start begging for mercy in less than five,” Sam tells him smugly, and Benny can feel the conspiratorial camaraderie between the two of them now.  It’s tentative, still, but he’s grateful for it, and glad for Dean’s silly sensitivity to bridge the gaps.

 

He leaves off after another couple of minutes, leaving Dean hiccupping in the backseat.  “Well, it was mighty kind of you to share that with me, Sam,” he says, patting Dean’s knee before turning back to the front seat.  “The rusalka, you say?  Mind telling me that story?”

 

“You are _not_ bonding over my misery,” says Dean, panting a little still, already resigned.

 

“The one story Chuck really should have included,” Sam laments.

 

\---

 

“It’s just that, I never really thought Han was all that cool?  He was just a cocky asshole pretty much the whole way through the movies.  Never knew what Leia saw in him.”  Kevin shrugs.  Sometimes he likes to just troll Dean.  “Good with a gun, though, I guess that counts as cool.”

 

Dean doesn’t even pause to argue it, just shoves his popcorn bowl over into Cas’s lap and launches himself at Kevin.  The prophet only has time to give one surprised shout and it’s over.  A nerdy kid from Advanced Placement has no chance against a man who’s been hunting monsters for three decades.

 

Dean’s sitting on Kevin in seconds and wastes no time wrapping him in a bear hug and tickling the crap out of him.  Kevin gasps once and then begins shrieking, giggling wildly and punching Dean as hard as he can as the tickles begin rolling over his body.

  
“Stopstopstop CHARLIE!  SAM HELP SOMEONE AHEEHEHEHAHA!!” he bellows between giggles.

 

Everyone is present, scattered on the sofa and chairs dragged in to the room with the large TV, ready for movie night.  Cas, Sam, Charlie, Gabriel, Hannah… even Benny showed up, taking a seat in the ancient armchair Sam had found in one of the bunker’s rooms.  Kevin and Dean’s epic one-sided tickle fight is taking place about three feet from Benny’s chair, and he laughs, watching them.    


“Hey, kid, you oughta try fighting back!  I can tell ya for free that his knees are a good spot!” 

 

Dean pauses, grabbing Kevin’s wrists to prevent the retaliation, and scowls at Benny.  “Benny, you asshole!  Shut your mouth!”

 

“I….. thought it was his ribs and neck that were ticklish?”  Hannah speaks into the suddenly quiet room, looking at Benny and addressing him directly for perhaps the first time ever.

 

“Nah, Hannah, did you forget how ticklish his feet were?”  Charlie reminds her.

 

“What is all this nonsense?  I’m going to be pissed if I painstakingly wrote all that on his tummy and it wasn’t even his worst spot,” Gabriel complains.

 

“Yeah, sorry, Gabe, it’s been his armpits.  Known that for years,” Sam tells him with the authority of a sibling.

 

Dean has been looking increasingly and rapidly worried, watching this exchange as it headed in a direction he doesn’t think he’ll like (but one that Kevin thinks he personally will enjoy a lot).

 

From down on the floor, he pipes up.  “The only way you’re going to know for sure is if you test it,” he says, with the presence of mind of one who wasn’t put in Advanced Placement for nothing.

 

Dean must be worried, because he doesn’t even retaliate on Kevin, just watches as the others are slowly getting up from their spots on the chairs and sofas. 

 

Sam takes the lead, lunging for Dean and grappling him.  Gabriel’s the next fastest, grabbing Dean’s legs, which are suddenly kicking wildly.

 

“No way.  NO WAY!!  GET OFFA ME!!” Dean bellows as Benny takes his arms.

 

Charlie quickly zips in and pulls Kevin out of harm’s way while the other three wrestle Dean down to the floor, swearing the whole way.  They get him pinned with a little difficulty – Benny kneels heavily on Dean’s forearms, Sam’s sprawled across his torso and Gabriel’s sitting on his legs.  The Trickster looks up and grins at Kevin cheekily. 

 

“You were like the bait, kiddo, to get Jelly Dean here where we wanted him.”  He winks and gestures towards the twitching, cursing body lying flat on the floor.  “So!  How shall we carve him up?  I call dibs on the feet!  I bet I can do some _damage_ down here!” He’s already pulling off the socks.    


  
“You guys.  You _guys_!  I can’t – all of you?!  You’re gonna kill me!!” 

 

“Pfft.  Come on, Dean, don’t be a baby!”  Charlie positions herself next to Benny, smiling up at the vampire who’s got Dean’s arms pinned.  “It’ll be over before you know it.  I kinda do want to see if your armpits are really that bad.”

 

“Oh, they are,” Sam assures her, pushing himself off Dean’s chest as the others help in holding him down. 

 

“Why don’t we take one side each, sweetheart?  We can each get under one arm and one side of his ribs,” Benny’s saying to Charlie.

 

“Lord Arch- Gabriel.  Perhaps you could allow me to take one foot, as well?  I enjoyed it the last time,” Hannah asks humbly.

 

“How are you guys just talking about this so casually?!”  Dean sounds frantic.

 

“Of course, Hannah, plenty here to share.”

 

“Guess I’ll take the knees?  Since Benny suggested it,” Kevin comments, thumping down by Gabriel and returning his high-five.

 

“Cas?  We sharing his belly, then?”  Sam asks, cracking his knuckles.

 

Cas is the last one still standing, and he takes his spot slowly and deliberately, across from Kevin.  “You may have his belly to yourself, Sam.  I would like to try his hips.”

 

“AAARRRRGHH,” Dean growls to the ceiling and all of them.  “You are all the worst friends ever.  Stop talking about it and get this over w-eeeeHEEEEEhahahahaHAHAH!”

 

With his invitation, they jump right in, seven pairs of hands tickling every available inch of Dean’s skin.  Benny and Charlie are having a little competition to see who’s the best tickler – Charlie’s teasing Benny’s slow stroking tickles, asking if that’s how it’s done down in the bayou, while her own fingers are prodding light and fast between the ribs.

 

Kevin and Sam are mostly just mocking Dean, trying to speak over his howls of laughter, commenting on how he’s getting exactly what he deserves and that they can keep this up forever if he keeps making funny noises like when Sam combines a single digit wiggling around in his belly button while he skitters his blunt fingernails all around the rest of the quivering soft flesh, and when Kevin squeezes one knee and flutters behind the other at the same time.

 

Hannah’s earnestly giving Gabriel tips and suggestions, which he listens to with a huge amused grin on his face, as though he hasn’t had millennia to hone his technique.  But he scribbles along the ridge of toes and scrunching sole as she instructs, happy to obey for a change.

 

Cas is absently prodding his thumbs into the flare of Dean’s hipbones, mostly just watching Dean’s face with a small smile on his own.  Dean is _wild_ , trying to thrash around with all his limbs restrained and a hundred forty fingers tormenting him, voices all around teasing and laughing at him.  His own laughter is fighting to maintain a style, varying from rushing giggles to rolling belly laughs, peppered with shouted curses and pleas. 

 

When the laughter turns to silent wheezing he finally takes his hands off and sits back.  “Okay, that’s enough,” he says mildly.

 

Everyone else sees rather than hears him and stop also, patting or punching or scruffing Dean as he curls up and gulps air, hiding his face in his arms.

 

“Well now that was fun,” Benny drawls.

 

“It always is,” Sam remarks, leaning back smugly against the sofa.

 

“Think we broke him?” Kevin asks a little guiltily, prodding Dean’s leg, which retaliates by kicking him.

 

“You are all _bastards_ ,” Dean’s voice is muffled through his arms where he’s still buried his face.” 

 

“Aw, Deanie-Weenie, you’re not gonna hold a little group bonding against us, are you?”  Gabriel asks, prying him open and offering him a beer.

 

“…I’m gonna hold it against one of you,” Dean declares, declining the beer and raising his red, tear-stained face to stare directly at Kevin, a smirk spreading wide.

 

Kevin’s eyes fly open.  “ _Me_?  You’re blaming me for that??”

 

“Who was it who told everyone to jump me?”  Dean challenges.  He cracks his knuckles and wiggles his fingers at Kevin, who nervously starts to his feet. 

 

“Hey, you started it!”

 

“You’re dead, Advanced Placement,” Dean tells him, jumping after him.

 

Kevin leaps to his feet with reflexes he wouldn’t have had before he met the Winchesters, and wonders how far he can run before he’s caught.

 

 

 

\---

Dean stretches lazily and takes another drink from his beer.  The breeze is exactly the right degree of cool against the warm summer night, the beer hits his tongue with a familiar bitterness that puts him at ease, and the only noise is the river that powers the Batcave.  Even the sound of the water is muted though, and he and Cas speak in soft tones into the quiet.

 

They’re looking at stars again.  It’s both familiar and different to look at the stars with Cas.  Cas is almost old enough to remember them being made, although he says he was “different” then.  Dean doesn’t spend any energy wondering about it.  Cas is here now, and Dean is well familiar with what he’s like these days, hanging out with the Winchesters and the rest.  That’s what feels the same about looking at these stars.  It’s as though they’ve done this for years.  Sometimes it seems strange to think that Cas wasn’t always here, wasn’t always their friend, their guardian, their – their Cas.

 

“I remembered what the sigil was about,” Cas is saying, imitating Dean and stretching as well. 

 

Dean doesn’t immediately remember what he’s talking about.  “Sigil?  What sigil?”

 

“The one on your ribs.  The one I couldn’t read.”  Cas pokes that spot again and Dean flinches away with a snort, batting lazily at Cas’s hand.  “Though I didn’t end up requiring its use.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“It was when I first carried you out of Hell,” Cas explains patiently.  “I was re-forming your body and saw something that made me curious.  Not _that_ ,” he rolls his eyes at Dean’s lecherous grin.  “I had witnessed human procreation many times before and didn’t have anything to wonder about that.”

 

“Creepy ol’ Cas,” Dean says fondly.  “Watching people bone for thousands of years.”

 

“Hush, you.”  Cas pokes him again.  “The sigil was meant to remind me of that curiosity, so I could ask you about it later, but I ended up figuring it out on my own.  It was about your ticklish spots.”

 

Dean twitches at the sound of the word and half-sits up.  “Cas…” he says warningly, a faint smile playing at his lips.

 

“You know, of course, how I ended up finding them all.”  Cas leans over to him with a smile of his own.  Dean puts up his hands in obligatory defense but has no plans to really stop Cas.  Doesn’t matter, since Cas isn’t touching him yet, just keeps talking.

 

“I couldn’t understand why you had such heightened sensitivity.  What purpose it served.  It seemed like a handicap, if anything.”  Cas is staring at him intensely again. “I’m truly honored that you allowed me to exploit your ticklish spots, Dean.  That trust means a great deal.”

 

Dean puts his hand over his eyes.  “Cas, dude.  You cannot be having a heart-to-heart about – about _that_ , for fuck’s sake.”

 

Cas ignores him, though his smile widens when Dean fails to say the t-word.  “Out of all your ticklish spots, I think I like your thighs and hips best of all.”  Dean starts squirming a little, and gasps when he feels fingers on the spots Cas mentions.  “Mainly because I’m the only one allowed to tickle you there.  It’s too intimate for anyone else, isn’t it?  They’re my spots.  My territory.”

  
Dean knows his face is going beet red at this little speech, and he puts his hands over Cas’s mouth.  “Killing the mood out here, Cas.  Let’s talk about the stars again, yeah?” 

 

Cas pokes a finger up under Dean’s arm and wiggles it, just enough to make Dean bark a startled laugh and jerk his arms back down protectively.  Cas smiles and moves his fingers back to Dean’s legs.  “I like the way you like it when I tickle you, too.  It’s completely adorable,” he says, before wiggling his fingers along Dean’s thighs and bringing his mouth down to nibble at Dean’s hipbone.

 

Dean squeals, the noise piercing the silence, embarrassingly loud, and he quickly puts his hands to Cas’s shoulders and shoves away.  Cas lets him, holding up his hands placatingly with a grin.

 

“One of your finest features, Dean Winchester.  I’m glad I went ahead and restored your ticklish spots.  I almost didn’t.”  Cas puts his hands on Dean again, but only to hug him this time. 

 

“Wait – you could have made me not – not sensitive, anymore?”

 

Cas chuckles.  “You would have missed it too, don’t lie.  Everyone knows you enjoy it,” and he puts a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, effectively halting the grumbling the hunter was going to start. 

 

They stay out there a while, and if Cas sneaks a few tickles here and there, well, yeah, Dean doesn’t actually mind.


End file.
